


Ten Times Chris and Will Had Sex When They Probably Shouldn't Have

by missbeizy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, RPF, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:23:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4237137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten non-chronological scenes.  See above title.  ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Times Chris and Will Had Sex When They Probably Shouldn't Have

Chris is drunk.  

Chris is very, very drunk, but this isn't an uncommon occurrence for him.  He likes booze.  He likes parties.  He likes these guys.  They're good, safe, laid back people.  But he would not be so spectacularly drunk if it weren't for Ashley and her sloppy mixing skills and her suggestion that he drown his sorrows over how unavailable the hot, geeky, smart, funny, perfect asshole across the room is in alcohol.  

He and Will have been socializing on and off for a while, but in the last month they've seen each other at least twice a week.  Every time those brown eyes and that beautiful smile turn in Chris' direction, he's that farther gone.  They've had two or three one-on-one conversations during that time, talk that was surprisingly personal as well as riotously funny.  It's a rare combination for Chris.  Will makes his body hurt with the desire for more of—whatever this is. No matter how many times they interact, it's never enough; Chris finds Will's brain just as fascinating as his body.

At the end of the night, Chris walks Will to his car and asks, "Hey, do you live far?"

"Ventura.  So, yeah, sort of."

"Oh." Chris sticks his hands in his pockets awkwardly.  He's sobered up enough to realize he has no idea where he's going with this, but not enough to come up with a witty segue into something viable.

Will stops beside his car, keys dangling in his hand.  He smiles and looks Chris in the eye. "It's not bad.  I love the beach."

_I don't.  But I will pretend to if it keeps you talking._

"I've been, like, near, but never exactly there," he says.

"You should totally come."

"Okay." He inhales.  Exhales. "Let's go." Aiming for cute-drunk and not stupid-drunk.  He doesn't know if he hits the mark.  He's also being wildly inappropriate, but that's not registering through the tequila.

"Right now?" Will laughs.

"It's Friday night. You're heading there anyway. Sure.  Why not?"

"What about your car?"

"Ash drove."

The look on Will's face is an even mixture of restraint, concern, and desire.  Chris has seen desire often enough to recognize it—but the other two emotions present alongside it starts a fire low in his belly.  He wants this man to like him and want him back, and he isn't used to having to work very hard for that; past a certain point in his life, sexual attention was easy to find.  Not as easy to navigate, but certainly available to him at the drop of a hat.  When all he was looking for was sex, he managed fairly well.

But this.

But  _this_.

He doesn't know.

"Okay." Will's cheeks are flushed and his eyes sparkling. "Hop in."

It's a long drive.  By the time they park near the beach in Ventura, it's two in the morning and the area they're in is deserted.  Will locks the car doors before turning the radio down.

"This isn't the worst part of town, but it isn't the best, either."

Chris is completely, unnervingly sober.  They've been talking nonstop since they left Los Angeles, but now there's just the radio and the dead of night around them.  Chris tries to stop shooting Will glances out of the corner of his eye.  It's a challenge.

And then, after a solid minute or two of thick, awkward silence, Will says, "I have a boyfriend."

_Shit._

"I know." Chris tries to sound innocent.  The way the end of that last word floats up his vocal range gives him away.

"Hanging out with you when you were just a celebrity to us never phased me.  You know that, right?" Chris nods. "But the way you looked at me before we left the party tonight... that phased me.  The way you—are, I mean, just  _you_ , without all the frills—phases me." He inhales. "A lot."

Chris goes hot down the back of his neck.  This is more than he expected to hear. "I really like you."  _Do you like me?  Check yes, no, or maybe.  Good god, Colfer._  "But he seems—sweet."

Will turns the radio off and stares out over the dark beach and calm surf. "I live a few blocks from here." He wets his lips.  Chris watches his pulse hammer against the side of his throat. "Would you—"

"Yeah." Chris is breathless and one hundred percent interrupting him.

They would have ended up kissing in the hallway if it weren't for a drunk neighbor who stumbles past them going down the stairs.  Instead they blush and laugh together all the way into Will's apartment.  For a moment, Chris wallows in the tension that snaps between their bodies—the pull he feels toward Will is so insistent it makes his skin tingle—before he has to decide to either back off or up the ante.

He usually has a plan for this sort of thing.  But this isn't a hook-up.  This is... Will.

_Why is he different?  When did he get so deep under my skin?_

Chris stands with his back against Will's closed and locked front door, his arms folded defensively and his posture hunched.  It's not exactly an enticing pose, but Will is looking at him as if he hangs the moon.

And then Will steps forward, cups his jaw in both hands, and kisses him.  Chris inhales sharply.  He's used to making the first move.

Will's grip tightens. He presses Chris back into the door. Chris' arms dangle uselessly at his sides, but he does kiss Will back, parting his lips and tilting his head to make it clear he wants this.  He murmurs a noise that Will's lips muffle.  Will pulls away, takes a breath, and then nudges their foreheads and noses together.  The gesture is so sweet it takes Chris a moment to register it's happening at all.

"Hi," Will whispers. "We could have been kissing for months."

Chris laughs.  He has to reach up just a little to get his arms completely around Will's neck.  He feels small against Will's broad chest.  He really likes that. "Hi.  This is true." He glances over Will's shoulder.

"I live alone.  I had roommates in LA, but rent is cheaper here, especially with the new job."

_If he and the boyfriend don't live together after a year and a half, it can't be that great._

Devious hope swells in Chris' chest.  Maybe he did have a plan going into this after all.

His body relaxes.  He tips his cheek against Will's, and then kisses along his jaw to his ear. "I assume you have a couch?" He buries his face against Will's neck and breathes out, hot and wanting.  It feels so good to be close to him, to obliterate the platonic distance that has rung false between them since the moment they met.  Will's body simply feels like—his.  Will in general feels like his.  

"God." Will exhales into his hair. "Are you—really?"

Chris answers by pressing his hands over Will's pectoral muscles and walking him backwards, kissing his neck as they tread carefully around furniture.  His fingers trail down Will's torso, tracing the shape of his abdominal muscles to the waistband of the gray pants he's wearing.  Will falls backwards onto the couch and takes Chris with him.  Chris settles between Will's legs, plants his elbows on the couch cushions, and kisses him before he can ask that question again.

Chris knows exactly how good of a kisser he is and doesn't hesitate to give Will everything he's got—nips of his teeth, slips of his tongue, pulling back and pressing in at the right moments to keep Will guessing and wanting more.  Will's big hands stroke his back and shoulders and comb through his hair, and when they begin to breathe heavier and their knees fidget, Will cups Chris' ass through his jeans.

Chris rocks his hips down. " _Hngh_." He cracks an eyelid when Will laughs. "Not exactly the response I was going for, but okay."

"I'm sorry." Will is grinning.  His mouth is damp and pink.  Chris wants to lick it. "You're just so squirmy.  All arms and legs.  It's freaking adorable.  And sexy. And perfect." He drops kisses down the column of Chris' throat with each phrase, his fingers kneading the globes of Chris' ass.  He drops his voice when Chris continues to rub down against him. "So hot."

They kiss and grind for much longer than Chris is used to.  He's uncomfortably sweaty and his erection is wedged at a bad angle in his jeans and there's a couch spring digging into his right knee. "Can you sit up?" Chris is embarrassed by how hard he's panting.  They haven't even done anything yet.

"Yeah." Will shimmies up to sit with his legs folded at the end of the couch against its armrest.  

Chris straddles his lap. "That's better." He smiles, cups Will's face, and kisses him, pressing the tips of his thumbs into Will's dimples.  When Will's hands find him again, they slip down the back of his jeans to press against his slightly sweat-damp briefs.  This position is more comfortable, but there's a distinct lack of friction against his cock and Chris is wriggling and whining before long. It's such a tease, especially with Will's hands all over his back, ass, and thighs.

"You're an ass man, aren't you?" Chris tries to get his cock against Will's torso.

"And you're apparently a boob man?"

It's true that Chris hasn't been able to keep his hands off of that chest. "Oh my god." He laughs.

Will rucks his shirt up to get at his fly. "I really want to get you off, honey.  Okay?"

_Jesus, he even asks.  Who is this guy and can they make copies?_

"Please.  And—same."

They take turns unzipping their pants.  Chris experiences a keen rush of pleasure when Will takes the time to remove the garments from them both entirely before bringing their bodies back together.  They kiss and rub against each other through their underwear until Chris can feel the full shape of their cocks swollen up side by side—a hot pressure that is perfectly timed as well as undeniably masculine.  He breathes out warm and shaky against the corner of Will's mouth.

Will's right hand glides down his belly and past the waistband of his briefs. "Mm, come here."

Chris exhales audibly as his cock surges up into Will's hand.  The urgency is immediate and devastating—he's already halfway there just from their make-out session, and not a little embarrassed by the fact.

" _Oh_ —"

Will's teeth nip his collarbone, above the drooping collar of his shirt. "God, you're so  _big_." Chris whimpers. "The first time we danced together I thought you had a hard-on.  But you were just—that big soft, holy crap." He drags his fist up and down Chris' cock slowly, obviously savoring every pass. "F-fuck, honey." He thumbs the dry, hot, tight head, and then begins to speed up. "Does that feel good?"

_Damn, he's a talker._

Shaking, Chris rolls his hips into every tug.  He feels sexy and pleasantly overwhelmed with Will's hands on him, and that's always a good sign. "Y-yeah.  I'm close. Go slow." But he does want to come like this—he isn't ready for anything more, and gets the feeling Will is on the same page.

When he has his hand down Will's pants and a hard, hot cock throbbing against his fingers, it feels even better.  He closes his eyes and allows Will to take over, to kiss him and jack him and breathe against him the way he chooses to.  Trust shivers out of him, almost eerie for how quick and complete it is. He might be afraid of that if he could move beyond the borders of pleasure, but his need is too prominent. He has to come.  He has to be made to come by this man.  He's so  _close_. He looks down at their cocks and hands and balls framed by shoved down underwear, everything trembling but barely visible in the light coming from a lamp across the room.  Despite that, it's still so sexy, and he loves when it's simple like this, just friction and desire and the tangy smell of another man sweating and moving against him.

"Shit." Will tenses up. " _S-shit_."

"God, yeah," Chris whispers against his ear, going faster, "come in my hand."

Will spits an escalating series of strangled moans and shoots over Chris' fingers, warm and wet and so much.  The sight tips Chris over—he adds to the mess, regretting that they didn't take their shirts off, too, because there's come more or less everywhere now.  This thought dies when Will puts his fingers in Chris' hair and kisses him like the world is about to end.  They press closely together, sticky and disheveled and content.  Will doesn't let him go until the need for air becomes paramount.

Will stares at him, wide-eyed.  Chris can almost feel the path of his gaze it's that intense.  Chris' heart is pounding and his dick is throbbing and wet and the orgasm is still making his muscles quiver and oh  _god_ , it's too perfect.  He has no desire to put his clothes on and leave, which is almost always what he does at this point during a hook-up.  The affection in Will's eyes destroys him.

He wants those hands to stay.  He wants to peel the shirt off of Will's heaving torso and lie him down and nuzzle into every crack and crevasse, lick his armpits and bite his biceps and suck marks down his belly.  He wants to go to bed with this man right now—this is new for him, aside from the first few guys with whom he had illusions of romance and thought he could have it all. He learned that he couldn't.  

But Will...

But  _Will_.

 

*

 

"I love everything this trailer chooses to be." Will sprawls across Chris' Grumpy Cat couch.

"I can't believe we got the green light on  _five separate projects_  this morning." Chris sits next to him.

"Don't be modest. You believe it."

Chris smirks. "Oh, I believe it.  You never need to worry about that with me." He exhales. "But that's it.  That's—you know, the next five years of our life. With a little wiggle room."

Will shifts closer. "Wiggle room, huh?"

"We'll never have time for a real wedding.  I mean, getting everyone together as it is would be..." He laces their fingers together. "It may not be this year.  Or even next year."

"Does wiggle room at least mean planning?" Will's thumb traces the veins on the back of his hand.

"Of course.  That is what I do best, remember?" Chris' heart feels ridiculously full.

They celebrate in their own unique way, but after Chris picks up a voicemail from Melissa that says, "Murphs wants me to remind you that even though you aren't a round-faced baby gay anymore, you still aren't allowed to get your dick sucked in your trailer.  Shame on you, Colfer.  I bought that Grumpy Cat blanket and come stains are a bitch to get out.  Hurry the fuck up and return the favor so we can go to lunch.  The makeup and hair people are hungry and today we shall feast because your wallet."

Wiping the corner of his mouth clean, Will cracks up.

 

*

 

"This is like a shrine to nerdy, tiny you." Will takes in Chris' childhood bedroom with eyes that showcase both fondness and judgement. "Did they change...anything, since you left?"

"It wasn't that long ago.  Geez."

"Sometimes I forget." He winks. "You are the old man in this relationship, after all."

"Am I robbing your cradle, William?"

"Don't call me that while I'm having dirty thoughts about you hidden away in here jerking it to some shirtless heartthrob in a teeny bopper mag."

Chris hits him with a pillow. "Like I ever had those." He makes a face when Will narrows his eyes. "Shut up.  You know nothing." He smiles.  He may have had a few of those, but he would never admit to it. "Instead I entertained complicated and immersive fantasies about original characters I created in the Harry Potter universe.  It wasn't masturbation.  It was a  _craft_."

Will flops down onto his bed, waggling his eyebrows. "Did you have a wand other than your own to play with?"

Chris lowers his voice. His family is home. "Are we talking other boys or dildos?  Your innuendo is getting sloppy."

Will laughs and rolls onto his back. "Well now my brain is an even better place."

They kiss, and then Chris joins Will, lying horizontally across the bed. "There were no boys. I wasn't—it just wasn't like that. And even after it was, I always felt really private about it.  I didn't want my parents to see that side of me.  Or, like, any side of me, to be honest." His mouth curls. "As for dildos—no.  But that doesn't mean I didn't have, uh, substitutes.  Oh my god I've never told this to anyone."

"Go on."

Chris' face is bright red. He stares at the ceiling as he speaks, his face crinkled with embarrassment. "I always had tons of arts and crafts supplies, of course.  There were these huge markers—like, two or three times the size of the normal ones that you'd use for large drawings.  And they had really smooth edges and like—a phallic shape?"

"Oh my god."

"This was like—I was older, not really young.  And I was so freaked out at first, I would just get one in to the cap and stop.  I was using lotion or, like, whatever I could find in the bathroom, Vaseline, you know.  But I got used to it and once I did—"

Will's breath puffs hot against his neck. "Oh man, you fucked yourself silly, didn't you?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"What did you think about?"

"I was such a guilty masturbator, geez.  Just—men. Bigger, stronger, older men. Making me do things to them. Teaching me how to do them."

Will's hand flattens over his belly and strokes down. "Yeah?  Would you do it on your back?  Or your stomach?"

"Both.  I moved around a lot.  Hands and knees felt better, but back was easier." Chris bites his lip when Will cups his dick through his shorts. "We are not—oh my god, they're in the kitchen."

"Shhh, just keep talking.  We're all right."

Will knows he likes to be pushed a little.  He doesn't move away.  His cock is getting hard so fast, and Will is barely touching it. "I used to—god, I was like obsessed with the idea of sucking cock for a while."

Will kisses down his neck. "Babe, I have news for you.  That never stopped."

Chris' mouth twists into a grin.  He closes his eyes and bends at the small of his back. "You have a point."

"But go on."

"There were like, no attractive men at my school, but we had this really hot sub once.  And I must have jerked myself raw thinking about blowing him and him telling me how good at it I was."

Will tugs Chris through his shorts, harder and faster. "Mm, you wanted to be a good boy for him?"

"Y-yeah."

"Would you swallow for him?" Will's cock is digging into his hip.  He wants to roll over for him, but his parents are  _right there_...

"In my fantasy, yeah."

Will's hand slides down the front of his pants and underwear.  The other takes Chris' hand and brings it to his own erection.  Chris firms his grip with a groan as Will plays with his balls. They stroke each other for a few exciting moments, their hearts racing against the relative quiet in the house.

And then Chris' mom knocks on the door. "Are you boys hungry?  Dad was thinking about turning on the barbeque..."

"Oh my god," Chris whispers.  His hips snap up to meet the friction Will provides.

Will's hand doesn't slow down.  Chris stares at the sight of his Harry Potter poster-covered door looming beyond the rise and fall of Will's fist around his dick. "We'll be out in a few, Karyn. Thanks."

"I told you, honey, call me Mom!"

"Sure thing!"

"Will," Chris gasps into Will's shoulder. "I'm gonna—"

"Yeah, that's it, come for me."

He comes all over his exposed belly, swallowing back the noises that rise.  His heart is pounding in his ears.  That was far more thrilling than it should have been, but glancing around at the remnants of his somewhat self-censored pubescence, he can't help but feel a surge of pride.  This is his life now—success and a gorgeous man who loves and wants him.

"I'm going to suck your brains out now." He shifts up the bed and puts a pillow behind his head.

Will straddles his chest, takes his own cock out, and before he can even kneel closer Chris is bending down to swallow him, hungrily licking around the head before he does so. "Shit!"

Having Will over him like this, big and strong and heavy, clothed but for his naked cock, is hot as hell—Chris loves the feeling of being pinned down, loves when his mouth is used roughly, and loves the look on Will's face, like he's trying hard not to pop just because of how good Chris sucking him is.

Chris wraps his hands around Will's tight ass and pulls. "Do it.  I'm okay."

Will holds onto the headboard of Chris' tiny bed, making the books and figurines on the flimsy shelf above it shake as he fucks his cock in and out of Chris' wide, pink mouth. "Fuck, god, feels so good."

Chris breathes through his nose, ignoring the drool as Will's cock forces his jaw to stretch and eventually relax.  He whimpers, knowing Will can feel the vibrations.  His own cock is trying to get hard again and it aches but he's enjoying himself too much to care.

"Can I come in your mouth?" Will pants.  His jeans scratch Chris' cheeks and chin, and Chris feels the warmth coming from his swollen balls.  He nods with a high-pitched, muffled whine, and Will grabs his hair and pushes into his throat and spurts.  He gags briefly but breathes through it, his throat working when he manages to swallow. And swallow.  And swallow.  He feels dirty and used and perfect.

"Oh, my god," Will exhales. "Oh god, honey."

Chris pulls off with a slurp, sucking the head to make sure he got every last drop. "That was so hot."

Putting his clothes back in place, Will asks, "Ready for barbeque?"

"Sure," Chris answers, smirking, "I'm always up for more meat."

 

*

 

Will researches venues pretty extensively before they go out, whether that involves Google or asking around or even polling Alla.  He wants Chris to have a good time no matter what they do, and is willing to put in the effort to achieve that goal.  But it doesn't pan out every time.

He should've known this nightclub wasn't going to be a success when Chris was recognized walking in. It was only a passing "hey, isn't that the gay guy from Glee" comment, but it was enough to put them both on alert.  From there things get worse—an overly crowded floor and the wrong music and way too many inebriated partiers.  

But it's a pair of twins bracketing Chris and trying to dance with him by grabbing his arms that pushes things over the edge.  One moment Chris is right next to him and the next he's two bodies away and freaking out in his usual contained way, wriggling to get free, to get away, his face red and his eyes glazed over.  Will feels his panic.  His own heart clenches when Chris' first instinct is to look for him.  He pushes through the small crowd that sprung up between them and pulls Chris close by his seeking hands.  When he opens his mouth to tell these assholes off, Chris grabs him harder.

"Don't, don't, just don't, please.  Bathroom. I need the bathroom."

_Bathroom it is._

Will half-holds Chris the whole way, cradling him against physical contact with other people.  The bathroom is crowded, but Will wets some paper towels and waits for an empty stall by Chris' side.

Inside the stall with walls around them, Chris breathes easier.  Will dabs the paper towels against his face and neck. "Hey, shh. Hey.  It's okay.  We're okay."

Chris whimpers into the side of his hand. "Sorry.  I don't like this place."

"I know, baby, I'm sorry.  Let's go home."

"I—I can't, I just." Chris' cheek is like fire against his wrist.  He presses their chests together. "I need to stand still, I need you to touch me, need to feel you, please, just, do something.  I—" He rubs their pelvises together, and then nudges Will toward the toilet. "Sit?" The club is nice enough to not have filthy bathrooms, so Will sits without hesitation.  Chris undoes his own jeans, rolls them and his underwear down around his thighs, and sits on Will's lap.  Will's eyes dance with confusion. "Be inside of me?  Please?"

"Geez.  Okay, honey.  Do you have...?"

"Yeah, I thought—maybe later, I dunno, but it's there—" There's a travel-sized bottle of KY in his pocket.  Will coats his fingers while Chris undoes his pants and gets his cock out.

"Do it fast," Chris whispers.  The bathroom is full of people, but they are masters at quiet fucking, and the stall walls go all the way to the floor, so no one can see their feet. "Just come in me, I need—god, need you." His voice drops. "Need you to make me stop feeling them.  Just want to feel you."

It's the strangest, driest fuck they've ever had, but Chris bounces on him like a greedy prom date, fingernails digging into his shoulders and his head thrown back.  He all but shoves Will's dick inside of himself, rough and quick, taking each unforgiving plunge more eagerly than the last.  Tension bleeds out of him bit by bit, and by the time he has the presence of mind to realize Will's hand is around his cock he's bottomed out in Will's lap, Will's balls slapping against his crack.

"Yeah," he chants in a whisper, "yeah, yeah, yeah, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."

Will hardly needs to point out Chris is doing that well enough on his own.  It doesn't last long—the friction is too much, and Chris is going so fast.  Will comes inside of him with a stifled grunt and they shiver and twitch in the dimly lit stall for a minute or two.  Will feels Chris' heartbeat slow down and his muscles relax.  He holds Chris' torso against his and nuzzles kisses into his neck and hair.

"Babe?"

"Mm?"

"Better?"

Chris nods sleepily against his neck. "Love you.  Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Let's get you cleaned up and then we'll walk to the car together.  Get some air."

Chris sleeps in the passenger seat all the way home.

 

*

 

The house party they have the night marriage equality passes is loud, joyous, and one of the most memorable gatherings they've ever hosted.  After the expected rounds of talk about what this means to all of them—with long, tearful speeches delivered by the lesbians in their life who they love dearly—there is booze and weed and takeout.

They already have their wedding plans and the ability to make them a reality, but this decision changes everything—broadens the scope of their choice to live a life together, and turns the color and sound of it all up, making it into something so much bigger. Marriage equality in all fifty states is the sweetest kind of validation.  They both start crying at least twice before the alcohol kicks in and calms them down.

Chris is more openly affectionate than usual, kissing Will and holding him and finally dragging him into one of the offices on the first floor (there were too many guest rooms to begin with, so they converted one early on right after moving) and blowing him right there with the door wide open.

Ashley walks past while Chris is still on his knees and shouts, "Oh  _come on_ —shit, I can't even be mad this time.  Go ahead, kinky babies" and closes the door behind them.

 

*

 

Chris is so proud of Hannah he could burst.  He's also relieved she's out of that high school and will be moving on to bigger and better things.  The tour he gives Will of Clovis East is one of the strangest trips of his life.  It's surreal to be walking these halls and grounds the accomplished, proud man he is today, beside the man he's found to love and be loved by.  What a difference eight years makes.

Near the gymnasium, Will takes his hand.  Even here and now, he tenses up and glances around.  

Will smiles. "Okay?"

He lifts his chin and laces their fingers. "Yeah." They walk past the locker rooms. "Ah. And here is where I was called not-so-creative names, told the girls' locker room was next door, and that if I was looking for a bidet I could always check out the nearest Home Depot."

"Lovely," Will drawls, with a wince.  After a few seconds of sympathetic eye contact he drops into the silence, "Wanna go in there and make out?  Just get the homo  _everywhere_."

Chris laughs so hard he cries.  And maybe he simply cries, just a little. "You know what?  Fuck it.  Sure."

They jerk each other off in a shower stall, laughing as quietly as they groan, shoved up against the tile as if they own it.  Chris savors the righteous absurdity for months after the fact.

 

*

 

The first time they go to Paris, everything is on the table—and that table is flipped a few days into the trip after a champagne-induced roll in the sack leads to groundbreaking conversation that leaves them boyfriends feeding each other fruit and croissants the next morning while Pam and Ashley look on and mime vomiting but smile like lunatics at their laced hands for the rest of the week.

Chris is proud to say that, out of the entire week they spent fucking each other's brains out every moment they had to themselves, only one embarrassing incident occurred, involving the girls coming home early because a tourist thing they scheduled was canceled due to bad weather.  They walked into Pam and Will's room to find Chris and Will as connected as it is possible for two men to be.

The second time they go to Paris, they're settled as a couple and living together and everything about Paris is an anniversary.  They have their own room and even though Chris has events and press to attend to things are not as crazy as they are at home; Chris can relax in Europe in ways he can't seem to in America.  They eat like gluttons and fuck like rabbits and it's glorious.

The third time they go to Paris, there are at least twelve people with them, all Colfers by blood or marriage, Chris' grandmother is sleeping in the room that sits opposite their headboard, and Will absolutely refuses to come near him unless at least half the house is empty.  As they spend very little time in the rental, and when they do everyone is typically present, this amounts to very little intimacy.  

Chris becomes a cranky man.

At night when it's dark and they're exhausted from being incredibly enthusiastic tourists and eight hours of exposure to family, Chris still finds the energy to cuddle up to Will under the sheets, to trail eager fingertips up and down his body, to kiss him in all the spots Chris knows respond instantly to touch.  

It's been days since they last got off together.

Chris slides down his body before he can protest, kissing warm and wet between his legs and broadly over his cock and balls and thighs, not caring what he hits as long as it's naked.

When Will gives a whine of warning, Chris asks, "You came to bed from the shower naked and you expected  _what_  exactly?" He presses Will's thighs apart and up, puts a pillow under his cheeks, and licks him open for the next half hour, kissing and lapping at his hole until he's panting and pulling Chris' hair.

The little house is silent but for some minimal noise coming in from the street and a television or two set to low volumes in the surrounding rooms.

"I could fart right now and your grandma would hear it," Will says.

"Please don't do that. I have a rhythm going."

Will laughs under his breath. "Chris."

"My grandmother likes you more than me.  Stop worrying and let me eat your ass."

"That could be a bumper sticker." Chris licks inside again to stop him from going on. He inhales and bends, and the sight of that body arching makes Chris' dick throb.  Five minutes later Will says, breathing heavily, "If you don't fuck me I'm going to make you bunk with your sister for the rest of the trip."

Chris lifts his swollen mouth from between Will's slick cheeks and sits up, leaning his weight on one hand while pressing the fingers of his other in, hooking two against Will's rim and then pushing one inside gently.  They're breathing to the same rhythm, and when Will hands Chris the lubricant bottle, he realizes they're also trembling identically.  Chris lies down on top of him, slicks his cock to the tip, and then presses into Will's body with careful rocks of his pelvis.  It takes a while, especially without using fingers beforehand, but Chris knows Will loves it this way, especially when Chris is holding him close.

Chris kisses Will when he's bottomed out, savoring the quiver at the corner of his mouth.

"I love you," Will whispers.  He tilts his hips up, wraps his legs around Chris' tiny waist, and holds on.

They grow sweaty in the humid, shivering space beneath the sheets as Chris moves, rolling and rocking his hips to keep Will chasing the shaft of his cock as it leaves and returns. After days of nothing it feels incredible—the clamp and release of Will's body as much as being close, as much as the smell and sounds coming in from Paris outside, their city, the place where so much happened between them, and Chris can only close his eyes and cling to Will's sweaty shoulders and haul him closer.  Being quiet is a challenge, but they manage to get there without the bed hitting the wall or too much noise when they come a few minutes apart with Chris fucking Will fast and deep and Will with one hand around his cock.

Will's free hand travels the length of Chris' spine to cup his ass and hold him there. "Stay a minute."

Chris kisses his forehead, his left cheekbone, and his jaw. "Okay." Will needs these post-coital moments more often than he does—needs to stroke Chris' sweaty hair and feel his heartbeat slow down and the sex-ache in his body in order to be reminded of how real and good this is.

The next morning the breakfast table is unusually quiet.  Chris knows his family knows, but jokes about his sex life are rare, and he can't say that he minds.  Still, things have shifted lately.  He's not sure why or how precisely—but suddenly it's as if his parents are seeing him as a grown man for the first time, observing his choice of partner and his post-Glee plans and his successes (which he has always been eager to share the benefits of), and they've been more open and less awkward around him and Will.  

His mom is red-faced and his dad is hiding in the kitchen, which is weird, and then out of the blue Chris' grandma says, "Oh, loosen up, Karyn.  God knows I've heard worse.  You and Tim were rascals in your day."

"Mother!"

Chris stops chewing.  Will puts his orange juice down.

His grandma winks at them, and that's when Chris realizes he can stop trying to integrate Will into the family because he's already a member.

 

*

 

"So like, was that the thing?" Ashley asks. " _'Turning 24 oh shit gotta make myself look 12'_?"

Chris jabs her with the tip of his wand. " _Silencio_."

"Oh, brother."

That and a full house of completely trashed friends finishes off the evening rather nicely.

Chris also has to admit he is in love with Will's costume—it's both good and clever, and Will is hilarious putting on the character, worse and worse with every shot he knocks back.

Chris latches on to him at one point and whispers in his ear, "Hey, Willy Wonka.  Have something sweet for an orphaned wizard?" He goes for seductive and falls somewhere in between drunk-as-fuck and silly.

"Oh my god, no," Will says. "My mom used to call me that.  Don't."

So much for Chris' plans for  _that_  particular bedroom scenario.

Instead, he goes for a simple, "Aw, Daddy doesn't want to play?"

Will smiles, blushes down the back of his neck, and pushes his nose against Chris' jaw. "If baby's a good birthday boy, maybe."

All it takes is one hand at the small of his back and Will's alcohol-sharp breath ghosting across his lips and Chris is half-hard in his jeans.  He has always been a horny drunk, and Will lives under his skin even on his worst day, so it's no surprise it doesn't take much when his inhibitions are lowered.

They exchange kisses in between chatting with their friends and drinks, touching each other's wrists, sides, and backs in a domestic way that makes Chris' blood race.  They're the hosts of this party in their beautiful home, and he feels perfectly settled and in charge.

When things begin to wind down, Will takes his hand and leads him out into the backyard, which is empty of guests—they didn't want it to get wrecked so they locked the doors before the party started.  Will leads Chris to stand under the gazebo and kisses him, tracing the lines of his torso down to where the skinny jeans he's wearing curve over the swell of his ass.

Will sits down on a lounge chair and Chris follows, straddling his lap. "I want to give you your present."

"Mmm, I like this present," Chris hums, fingering Will's shirt from its collar to the waistband of his pants.

Will laughs. "Okay, yeah, but there is an  _actual_  present." He takes a rectangular box from his pocket.

"Oh, god, what did you do?" Chris tries to pretend he isn't thrilled to be spoiled.

"Open it."

It's a diamond tennis bracelet, one that Chris has ogled in more than one city they've been to.

"Shit." Chris' voice goes squeaky. "This is too much."

Will smiles. "Money came in from the last script pass.  I wanted to give you something nice." He smiles and sets the box aside. "You can wear it on the carpet when Noel premieres."

"Thank you.  I love it.  I love you." Chris kisses him again and again, until the warmth surging through his body crests and he can't stop moving. "Can I have the other present, too?"

"Right here? Now?"

"They're all too drunk to notice we're gone."

"Mmm.  True.  Happy birthday, baby."

Later, Chris doesn't even care if anyone notices the wet spot on Will's green pants or the way his own jeans aren't quite adjusted back to their original fit down his long legs.

 

*

 

It's a few crew members and Chris and Will on the Bushwick loft set.  They're pre-gaming in anticipation of going out shortly.  Chris and Will are sprawled out on Kurt's bed behind the privacy curtain.

After a long silence, Will sighs. "I dunno, I was really rooting for you crazy kids.  I hope you work it out."

"You are far too invested in this."

"But you're  _soulmates_." Will feigns exaggerated sniffling. "It's sweet."

"The more you talk, the more my dick shrivels."

"Your heart is cold and black."

Chris smiles as if to emphasize the exact opposite, his whole face lighting up and crinkling around his eyes and dimples. "You think so?"

Will bites his lip. "No.  I know better.  But you're a cheater.  How can I resist that face?" He rolls over in order to get close enough to rub their noses together. "And how am I supposed to resist shouting it to the world that you're Mr. In Control Professional by day but Mr. Secret Schmoopy Romantic by night?"

Chris kisses him, and then lowers his voice dramatically. "Because you of all people understand the importance of my secret identity.  Lives are at stake, Will."

Will pauses just as dramatically, and then moans, "But  _your love was so true_."

"Oh my god."

"Fix it!"

"Oh my  _god_." Chris laughs. "We're alone in Kurt's bed, and all you can think about is fixing his love life?"

"What else should I be thinking about?" He flops onto his back. "Every moment they spend apart torments me."

Chris sits up, and then straddles Will's hips.  In about three seconds he goes from Chris to Kurt, his facial expression and posture changing.  When he speaks, his voice is one hundred percent Kurt's. "It's been a long time since I had someone in here.  You know, since Blaine.  I'm just so lonely, Will." He looks down at Will, his eyes wide and sad and wet and his bottom lip drawn in.

 _Oh god oh god._   

Chris knows exactly how big his boner for Kurt Hummel is.

"And the cheating continues," he says.

Chris—no,  _Kurt_ —executes a wriggle of silly, almost coy misunderstanding that is not at all a gesture Chris would ever make in real life and  _oh dear god_  Will is in trouble. "We could just talk, but—" Will sits up, puts his hands on Kurt's face, and kisses him.  Even the way Chris kisses as Kurt is different—breathier, less open-mouthed, holding himself still, as if he's afraid to want it, to let someone get close. "And I think I might have forgotten how." Kurt shifts on top of him. "I might be awful."

"C'mere, beautiful," Will croons.

He doesn't intend to let this go any farther than making out, Chris like a stranger on top of him, putting on Kurt's body language, tics, and voice, but somewhere in between running his hands down to cup Kurt's ass and Kurt's tongue awkwardly licking into his mouth, they're both hard, and Will can't summon up the strength to put the brakes on.  Their friends across the room are laughing and drinking and largely oblivious, but the privacy screen is almost see-through, and...

Kurt whimpers, high-pitched and staggered.  

When he looks at Will through those thick eyelashes, an expression of nervous lust on his face, Will cups the back of his head and presses him down.  Kurt slithers the length of Will's torso, his fingers catching on Will's fly, and Will stifles a groan when his zipper comes down and his dick pushes up.

He almost says Chris' name, but the look he gets stops him and instead he forces out a breathless, " _K-Kurt_..."

"I really want to—to use my mouth.  Okay?"

"God, yeah." Before he can begin, though, Will rushes to add, "Undo your pants. Touch yourself, too." The sight of Kurt reaching down to free his own erection makes Will's throb.

Kurt's face flushes cherry red. "If you want." He wraps his hand around himself and strokes, up and down, his warm cheek trembling beside Will's cock.

"Now put it in your mouth," Will whispers, dragging the tip of his cock across the seam of Kurt's mouth.  When that warm wetness finally takes him in, he inhales sharply, both at the way it feels and the way Kurt tugs eagerly at his own cock.

Even the way Chris sucks cock as Kurt is different.  Will holds his breath too often as that beautiful chestnut head bobs over him—he's trying to be quiet in the face of unexpectedly sharp pleasure, and when he puts his fingers in Kurt's hair and spreads his legs he can feel every moan vibrate down the length of his cock, every wet slick of saliva, every elastic tease of the back of Kurt's throat against his swollen, sensitive head.  Kurt is hungry and nervous and lost in his own pleasure. Will isn't surprised when he has to stop sucking to jerk himself off all over the bed between Will's knees, biting down on Will's jean-clad thigh to stifle his moans.  It's stupid levels of hot, watching that fat pink cock shoot white ropes over tight knuckles.  He knows how hard Chris gets off on getting off in places he shouldn't.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry, I couldn't stop," Kurt babbles, in between sucking breaths.

"Perfect, you're perfect, 's'okay." He steadies his cock against Kurt's bottom lip. "Can you keep going for me?"

Kurt licks at the head, his eyes fluttering shut. "Can I see—can you—um."

"What?"

"It's stupid."

"I promise I won't think it is."

"Would you touch yourself?  And—finish in my mouth?"

"Oh, god." That soft, wanting, flushed face is killing him. "Yeah, yeah, just open up for me, honey." He knows this is as much for expediency's sake as pleasure (they are so very not alone), but that doesn't make it any less hot.  He cradles Kurt's head in one hand, his thumb hooked on the corner of that pretty mouth, and jacks off with the other, his fist a blur as he edges the tip onto Kurt's waiting tongue.  

He's almost there, shaking, his belly rising and falling with uneven breathing, and then Kurt makes this hungry, raspy  _give-it-to-me_  noise that tips him over.  He comes in short gushes into Kurt's mouth, his ass rising off of the bed and Kurt's tongue lapping his come up like streaks of melted ice cream, sucking the head and digging into the slit until Will has to twist away from too much sensation.  Kurt follows his cock even then, swallowing the shaft down and humming as he sucks and sucks and sucks.

"Baby," Will gasps.

Kurt lifts up. "Mm, sorry."

Someone shouts Chris' name and stumbles in their direction.  They do up their clothes quickly.  

Chris tugs a throw pillow over the wet spots with a guilty look on his face. "I'll make it up to them."

"You are so bad. Oh my god."

"You loved it." Chris drags him off the bed. "Come on, let's get smashed."

Just before they skirt the privacy curtain Will wails, " _But what about Blaine_?"

 

*

 

"William Lacy Sherrod, you can see the line of those boxers through your pants.  I don't care how much you love them—"

"They're my T-rex groom boxers!  I bought those months ago!  I'm wearing them!"

"I will take a pair of scissors to them if that's what it takes to get them off you."

"Look—they're in pairs holding tiny useless T-rex hands!  They're wearing  _top hats_!  You love top hats."

"Oh my fucking god."

Ashley looks as if she's contemplating suicide via bobby pins.  She confirms this by saying to herself, a moment later, “I wonder how many it would take to open my jugular?"

They ignore her.

"It's just underwear. You can wear them every day on our honeymoon if you want, just..."

"But their tiny useless hands, Christopher."

"Don't use the full name treatment on me, mister."

"You just did it to me!" He pauses. "I'm wearing them."

"I am going to throw myself into the ocean," Ashley shouts.

They ignore her.

"For fuck's sake, there is a time and a place.  I just want you to not have visible underwear lines.  Do you not recall how many alterations we put that tux through to make it perfect?"

Will narrows his eyes. "So I take it you won't wear the matching ones I bought you?"

Ashley screams. "Call me when you need best woman services.  I am out."

They ignore her.

The noise of the wedding party hovering in the next room roars as she opens the door, and then quiets again when the door closes.  

Chris waits five seconds and then cracks up so badly tears run down his face.  Will actually collapses into a chair, his chest heaving with laughter.

"That was perfect. She lasted longer than I thought she would."

"She's slowly becoming immune.  It's sad, in a way." Grinning, Chris stalks across the room, drops to his knees in front of Will's chair, wraps his hand around the back of Will's neck, and drags him into a kiss. "I'm going to suck your beautiful cock, and then I'm going to go out there and become your husband." His grin widens. "And I'm going to do both of these things wearing gay T-rex boxers."

"I love you so damned much."

"And I love you."

As it turns out, the change of boxers is a good idea for more than one reason.


End file.
